


'tis the damn season

by aac7



Series: friends being a headache [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon Route, Blue Lion Shenanigans, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Post-Canon, Presents, Sparring with Love, and some sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28438263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aac7/pseuds/aac7
Summary: You see, according to the highly questionable and controversial logic of Sylvain's friends, a gifted dagger was a proclamation of love.Who was Felix giving a dagger to?_____In which Sylvain is suspicious after witnessing Felix purchase a new dagger, wrap it in plain brown parchment, and tie it off with twine.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Series: friends being a headache [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958674
Comments: 6
Kudos: 72





	'tis the damn season

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays! Super late but I love these two too much not to write a holiday one-shot featuring the whole Blue Lion's ensemble. They just scream Christmas family chaos.

Ever since Sylvain was a child, St. Cichol’s Day had been his favourite holiday. It often meant month long visits to Castle Blaiddyd, the extended stay meant to avoid the back and forth of travelling, packed with celebration. It started with Dimitri’s birthday, was followed by St. Cichol’s Day, and ended with Ingrid’s birthday. 

The birthdays were fun, but St. Cichol’s day was the best part, because that meant he and Felix got presents too.

The first St. Cichol’s Day after the war is different. Instead of celebrating in Fhirdiad, everyone had been beckoned to Garreg Mach, and by none other than the new Archbishop, whose advisor just happened to have the same birthday as the celebrated saint. Talk about coincidence.

On his way down from Gautier, he’d met up with Felix, and together ridden to Fhirdiad to join with Dimitri, Dedue, and Ingrid. They’d all arrived about an hour ago, meeting up with the rest of the Blue Lions and welcomed back to the monastery by their former Professor.

It’s no surprise when the first thing Felix does is announce that he’s going straight to the training grounds. Old habits die hard.

Of course, the first thing the rest of the Blue Lions decide to do while Dimitri and the Professor go over official matters is head down to the market, where the merchants have loaded their stalls with festive treats and gifts. Even Ingrid has armed herself with a pouch of coins and is headed to the market, ready to raid her favourite food stand. Sylvain wonders if he’s the only one tired from riding 12 hours from Fhirdiad.

He’s holding two boxes of leftovers and following Ingrid to a third food stand when he looks across the busy marketplace, beginning to wonder if his tired eyes are playing tricks on him. Unconvinced, Sylvain has to do a double take.

Because that _can’t_ be Felix, standing in line at the market stall across from him, when he said he’d be at the training grounds until lunch.

No, that _can’t_ be Felix, looking at something other than blade oil or a new weapon to stab people with. The man never goes past the armoury or the blacksmith.

It absolutely _can’t_ be Felix, who hates markets because they’re often crowded, loud, and full of people who try to offer him assistance. Goddess forbid someone assume he ever needs help.

But there’s no mistaking that ‘don’t you _dare_ offer me help’ scowl and that ‘offer me one sample and I’ll cut your hand off’ glare. It’s undeniably Felix, standing across from Sylvain in the market and not the training grounds, not looking at blade oil or weapons of mass destruction. Instead, he seems to be looking at a roll of plain brown postal wrap and is holding a ball of twine.

“Is that Felix?” Ingrid asks beside him, holding some kind of kebab in each fist. “What’s he doing here?”

“Beats me,” Sylvain shrugs. “We told him we’d be hitting the market later today, why didn’t he just come with us?”

With Mercedes in tow, Annette bounds up to them before Ingrid can swallow her mouthful of food. “Am I still super tired and hallucinating, or do I actually see Felix at that stall over there?” 

“Oh!” Mercedes gasps, following Annette’s finger. “That is Felix! He’s looking at...postal wrap and twine? Hm...it is St. Cichol’s Day, could he be getting ready to wrap a gift?”

There’s a beat of silence and confusion before Sylvain and Ingrid lose it, laughing so hard that a few people in the market turn to watch. Ingrid wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “That’s— Felix hasn’t bought a gift for any of us in years!” 

Since he was fifteen, to be specific. Gift giving just wasn’t something he cared for, preferring to spend his coin on actual useful things and not waste it on some ‘frivolous, capitalist holiday,’ even if it was for his longtime friends.

“Maybe he’s going to buy a present for Seteth? It is his birthday today,” Annette reasonably suggests. 

Ingrid shakes her head. “Highly unlikely. He doesn’t even buy _me_ birthday gifts that could be wrapped, and I’ve known him since we were kids,” Ingrid points out. “When I turned eighteen, he gave me some gold to get my lance sharpened and asked for the change.” 

Oh, that sounded like Felix alright. “On my last birthday he threw a bag of candy at me,” Sylvain adds, recalling how the bag had caught him off guard and hit him square in the forehead, prompting Felix to chide him on his slow reflexes. “He didn’t even buy them, he told me he’d gotten them from a girl in town.” 

“So he’s been a crappy gift giver in the past,” Annette shrugs. “Maybe he’s changed. I think Felix is a lot softer than you all make him out to be.”

“To _you,”_ Sylvain and Ingrid scoff in near perfect unison. Felix had an unorthodox way of expressing his care and affection for his friends, but that was something that would never change. Also, neither Sylvain nor Ingrid sang, so there was absolutely no chance in Felix softening towards either of them. 

“Oh, it appears he’s on the move,” Mercedes exclaims, and all heads turn to watch Felix walk away from the merchant, postal wrap and twine in hand. “He’s going to...the armoury?”

Of course he’s going to the armoury. Sylvain knew well enough that it was impossible for Felix to avoid it. “He’s probably going to pick up a new sword. He’s always complaining about the lack of variety up in Fraldarius,” Ingrid says with a roll of her eyes. 

That being said, it’s with great intrigue that the four of them watch their scowling swordsman completely bypass the broad selection of silver swords. Instead, he leans over a table displaying various daggers. 

“He just bought a new hunting dagger in Fhirdiad,” Sylvain frowns. “He wouldn’t buy a new one so soon.”

Felix seems to be deep in thought, staring intently at each dagger he selects. He tests their weight in his palm, closely inspects each gleaming blade, and even slashes through the air a few times, greatly intimidating the other shoppers. He’s being more thorough than usual, and once he finally settles on something Sylvain considers rather average looking, he moves on to the sheathes. 

Which seems to take even longer, and that’s unusual because Felix typically doesn’t buy new sheathes, opting to use one his old ones instead. 

After what feels like an eternity, he finally settles on one coloured a brilliant Blaiddyd blue, complete with ornate gold swirls that sprawl across its surface like ivy. 

Interesting. It’s definitely more flashy than Felix would spring for. 

Unless…

Sylvain snaps his fingers, his head jerking towards his friends. 

“Holy Seiros, that dagger isn’t for him. He’s buying it as a gift!” Postal wrap, twine, a fancy dagger. It was all falling into place, and Sylvain was absolutely _living._

Felix ‘love is weakness’ Fraldarius was buying a St. Cichol’s Day gift. 

But not just any regular gift, it was a _dagger._

“Maybe it’s for His Majesty?” Ingrid suggests, though she herself doesn’t sound all too confident in the assumption. “It was his birthday a few days ago.”

He can see why she’d think that. The blue would be an obvious choice for their king, but Sylvain isn’t too sure that was who Felix had in mind.

You see, according to the highly questionable and controversial logic of his friends, a gifted dagger was a proclamation of love. He certainly wasn’t in love with Dimitri.

So who was Felix giving a dagger to?

**~ ~ ~**

When it comes to asking Felix Hugo Fraldarius a question about his personal life, there are three things an individual should know before asking.

Number one; if it’s not absolutely necessary, don’t bother. 

Number two; if it _does_ happen to be absolutely necessary, you’ll get a cryptic answer at best and you better listen, because he won’t be repeating it.

Number three; if it’s about love or anything remotely related, you can ask, but you may get hit. 

Sylvain, naturally, chooses to ignore these things and usually gets hit. He’s slow to learn his lesson and apparently has even slower reflexes. 

Ingrid has always been careful in how she goes about asking Felix things. He was like a cat, always circling but never approaching, and one out of place movement could drive him out the door for an unknown period of time.

One had to be _especially_ careful about approaching Felix about matters of the heart. Ingrid knows it’s not her place to meddle, but when it comes to Felix, she can’t help it. It’s her responsibility to look after him in place of both Lord Rodrigue and Glenn. It’s her duty to help him.

Also, she can’t have Sylvain meddling on his own. Last time he’d tried to help their friend, it’d resulted in Felix not speaking to him for an entire month. As the new Duke Fraldarius and soon-to-be Margrave Gautier, the Kingdom can’t afford to get caught in another one of their spats.

No amount of planning or tactics could ever prove sufficient in this type of attack, and with Felix, Ingrid found that it was often best to go straight to the point and decipher his answers to the best of her abilities. 

“I picked these up for you at the market,” Ingrid says over lunch that day, sliding a box of kebabs across the table to him. “Since you were too busy to join us earlier.”

“Oh, thank you.” Felix eyes her suspiciously, but doesn’t say anything further as he opens the box, taking an experimental whiff. She can tell he’s satisfied by the way his brows arch a quarter of an inch.

Making Felix comfortable is the first step in attempting to make any type of conversation. “Did you buy any gifts this year?” She asks mildly, feigning disinterest by picking at a chip of wood on the table. Give him control of the conversation, don’t make him feel pressured, and don’t make eye contact.

She senses him hesitate, but the moment is fleeting. “It’s none of your business.” 

A typical Felix answer, but the immediate defensiveness confirms their earlier suspicions. The dagger is a gift. Now to figure out who it’s for.

“Felix, do you want anything for St. Cichol’s day?”

“I didn’t get you or Sylvain anything, so don’t bother. I didn’t even get anything for the boar.”

Ouch. She can’t say that didn’t hurt a bit. “Alright.”

“Why are you being so nosy?” He questions sharply. “You know I don’t do gifts.”

Abandoning all discretion - and frankly sick of his back talk - she fixes him with a flat stare. “So that wasn’t you we saw at the market?”

He freezes with a kebab halfway to his mouth, and goes from pale to pink to red in five quick seconds, swallowing so hard that she sees his throat bob. “I was just— I wanted to get a new whetstone before training so I went to the blacksmith.”

“Mmhm, okay,” Ingrid hums, placing her elbows on the table and resting her chin atop her hands. “That’s funny, because on holidays the blacksmith isn’t open until after lunch.”

He’s been caught like a rabbit in a snare, but she knows he won’t lay down and die without a struggle. Felix has always been stubborn like that. “Were you watching me or something?”

“Maybe.” _Yes._

He exhales a harsh breath through his nose, grumbling at her. “You didn’t have anything better to do?” 

She did, but watching Felix do something other than train had been far more interesting. “Watching you look through daggers was entertaining enough.”

He’s redder than Annette’s St. Cichol’s Day sweater. “It looked cool, since when was indulging myself on the holiday a crime?”

“Since you never do it.”

“So?”

“It’s just unusual, is all.”

“You’re unusual,” he retorts lamely, laced with more embarrassment than venom, a sure sign that she’s gotten under his skin. 

“Wow, I think I may need some aloe for that burn,” Ingrid teases, biting her lip to keep from laughing at how easily flustered he can get.

“Whatever,” he scoffs, shaking his head slightly and promptly rising from the table. “You’re annoying.”

“Happy Cichol’s Day to you too.”

“‘Tis the damn season,” he mutters as he walks away.

**~ ~ ~**

Despite what people may think, Ashe was definitely not scared of Felix. 

So what if he was sarcastic and intimidating? Sure, he had a scowl that could curdle milk, but Ashe knew that deep down, he was kind and cared for his friends. Just like some of the knights in his favourite books!

So despite what the people in the kitchen might have said, Ashe _did not_ jump and spread dishwater all over the counter when Felix said his name. 

Okay, maybe he did, but the sharpness of his tone reminded him of Captain Jeralt, and that man was terrifying.

Clutching a half-washed plate in his soapy hands, he slowly turns to find _the_ Duke Felix Fraldarius standing behind him. “Y-Yes, Felix?”

Felix looks about as uncomfortable as Ashe feels, shuffling his feet awkwardly. “I need— ugh… I need your help.” The words come out strained, as if they pained him to say.

“You need...my help?” 

“That’s what I said.” 

Flinching, Ashe sets down the dish before he drops it. Goddess, why was he sweating so much? “Okay...why me?”

“Because you’re the only one who won’t make a big deal of it and ask me stupid questions.” 

That was tricky, because to Felix almost all questions could be stupid if they irritated him enough. “Um, what did you need my help with?”

“I need a box. You have plenty lying around here somewhere.”

A box? What an odd request. “What for?”

“I said no stupid questions,” he immediately bristles, and for some reason he sounds...defensive?

“I need to know what it’s for so that I can get you the appropriate size,” Ashe reasons nervously. 

Felix hesitates for a beat. “A...gift.”

Ashe’s brain stops working for a second. A gift. Felix bought a gift, and needed a gift box. 

It was a well known fact that Felix didn’t give people gifts. On his last birthday, he’d offered Ashe a handshake with a grip so strong that his hand had tingled for five minutes afterwards. 

But was Ashe going to point that out? Absolutely not.

“What’s the gift?” He dares to ask. “Again, so I can pick up the right size.”

“A dagger,” he answers quite confidently.

A dagger? Was this a gift to himself? Ashe doesn’t bother asking, simply nodding and walking over to the storage room and sifting through the discarded packaging. He chooses a box that had been used for teacups, sweeping off the layer of dust before presenting it to Felix. 

“Thank you. And...I have one more thing I need your help with. You tell anyone, and you won’t be getting a handshake for your birthday.”

Ashe isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

**~ ~ ~**

There were three things that Sylvain considered himself good at. 

First, getting on Ingrid’s nerves.

Second, getting on Felix’s.

Third, sex.

Well, at least he thought was good at that third one. The first two were undoubtedly guaranteed. 

In the years he’d gotten on Felix’s nerves, he’d learned a thing or two about how the man operated. ‘Get away from me, Sylvain,’ or ‘mind your own business, Ingrid’ translated to ‘follow Felix to see what he’s up to.’ It was bold of him to assume that his two bestest friends in the entire world leave him alone just because he told them to. 

Ashe hadn’t told them anything useful, unwilling to confirm or deny the existence of the gifted dagger and claiming to not know who it was for. “I bet he’s giving it to Annette,” Sylvain snickers as they trail after their friend. “He’s always liked her the best.”

“I think it’s for Mercedes,” Ingrid argues. “He keeps telling her to pick up a weapon and train.”

“I don’t think he’s in love with Mercedes though. She’s not his type. Annette I could see. He’s a blushing mess around her.”

Ingrid frowns as they watch Felix set his materials down on a nearby table, sweeping away some loose snow. “Does he have to be in love with her to give her a dagger?” 

“Ingrid, have you not been listening to what I’ve been saying?!” 

“I rarely am, Sylvain,” she says dryly, yanking him behind a bush to ensure they stay out of sight. He’s sure they’ve gotten by undetected so far, or else Felix would have blasted him with Thoron by now. 

He’s pretty sure Felix is too busy to notice them anyways, as hems extremely fixated on his setup to notice them creeping after him. His hands are laid flat on the table, and his mouth is set in a hard line. 

“I think he’s trying to wrap it,” Ingrid observes. 

“An astute observation, detective,” he quips, earning a jab to the arm. “Has Felix even wrapped a gift before?”

As Felix begins sawing through the postal wrap with his sword, it quickly becomes apparent that the answer was no. The first jagged piece that he manages to cut doesn’t wrap around the whole box. The second piece is far too large, making it look like a wrapped hunk of meat. The third - he wisely switches to cutting with his own dagger - just looks like it’s wrapped by a child, and not in the charming way. He seems to think that the twine would somehow fix it’s appearance, but it gets tangled in his fingers and he curses so loudly that he startles a nearby dog.

Felix glares down at the materials as if they’d insulted his mother, and Sylvain starts to feel a little bad. 

“This is a disaster. Maybe we should help him.” Ingrid is about to stand, but Sylvain pulls her back down. 

“Are you crazy? He’s holding a knife and you’re about to offer him _help._ That’s a disaster in itself.” 

He and Ingrid are still arguing when they notice Dedue calmly walking up to Felix’s table, armed with a pair of scissors and some glue. “Oh, Dedue, you big beautiful idiot,” Sylvain mutters. “This is not the way you’re supposed to go.” 

But it seems that the goddess is watching over all her children today, because while Felix quite reluctantly pushes the materials across the table to the king’s vassal, the offer of help had been accepted nonetheless.

Whoever this gift was for, they were certainly someone special.

**~ ~ ~**

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“While I greatly value your company and your assistance, I was wondering if…” Byleth trails off, unsure of how to properly word her request.

Dimitri chuckles, closing the ledger he’d been reading and uncrossing his legs. “If you could be rid of my company and assistance?” 

“In not so many words, yes,” she grins sheepishly. “I’ve missed you greatly, but I was hoping to slack just a little and enjoy the holiday. These missives will still be here tomorrow.” 

“That they will, Professor.” He rises to his feet, and sets the ledger aside, striding across the room to offer her a hand up. “Shall we take our leave then?”

Byleth shuffles her own papers aside and sweeps them into a drawer before taking his hand and slipping her arm through the crook of his elbow. “We shall.”

“Any plans for the rest of your day?” Dimitri asks as they walk down the stretch of hallway. He’s been oddly giddy today, sneaking smiles in her direction when he thinks she won’t notice. Even now, she can hear the smile in his question without looking at his face. 

“I had hoped to visit with our friends and stop by the dining hall for dinner. Flayn and Ashe are making some food for Seteth’s birthday.” 

“Is that so?” Dimitri hums. “You won’t even stop by the training grounds to work up your appetite?”

Her appetite never needs working up, a fact that he’d never been shy about commenting on in the past. “Dimitri, what’s at the training grounds?”

That wry smile of his is back, his sole blue eye shining with boyish excitement. “I believe you should find that out for yourself, Professor.”

**~ ~ ~**

Byleth slowly pushes the doors to the training grounds open, taking a cautious look around. Dimitri’s last surprise had been on her birthday, where they’d learned that she didn’t take too well to surprise parties.

People jumping out of the dark and screaming at her? Of course she’d react with a panicked fire spell. What did he think would happen? 

Luckily the Crown hadn’t charged the Church for any of the repairs, and Sylvain had only been lightly toasted.

When the doors close behind her, there isn’t any screaming or people jumping out from behind pillars. No, the training grounds are empty, save for a lone present in the centre of the grounds. 

Actually, according to Annette, a present implied pretty coloured wrapping and gaudy, sparkly ribbons. This was a package, clad in plain brown wrapping and complete with a twine bow. 

Suspicious.

“If something comes out of this package and attacks me, I will betray the laws of this land and the oaths that I swore to punch you, Dimitri,” she threatens, meaning every word of it.

“The boar didn’t do anything, but you should punch him anyways.”

Byleth detects movement in her peripheral, raising her arm to catch the training sword that’s flung at her. Felix emerges from the direction it was thrown from. He’s got a sword of his own in hand, and a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. 

As always, Felix strikes first, moving with speed that still astounded her and barely leaves her enough time to raise her own sword in defense.

But she does, and she pushes her blade against his. “It’s been a while, Archbishop.”

Two months since they’d seen each other in person, to be exact, and they hadn’t had a moment alone. They weren’t exactly holding hands in public - not that Felix would be the type to - giving Fódlan a chance at peace and stability before surprising everyone with the relationship between the new Archbishop and new Duke Fraldarius.

Shoving him backwards, Byleth herself backs up to put some distance between them, allowing her time to assess his next move. They circle slowly, sizing each other up. “So it has, Duke Fraldarius. I’ve missed you,” she murmurs.

His smug expression softens in the slightest. “I might have missed you more.”

Always a competition with this one. 

“Can you tell me what’s inside this lovely little package?” She thrusts her sword towards the box sitting between them.

“I could do that. Or you could beat me and find out yourself.”

Byleth doesn’t at all have any qualms with that, but she’d do everything she could to throw him off his game before they did so. “Speaking of packages, did you receive my most recent portrait?”

She watches heat creep up over the neck of his sweater, spreading to his cheeks. “I did.”

“I commissioned Ignatz for it. You should have seen his face.” The way he’d turned red and covered his eyes when she’d dropped her robe had been absolutely hilarious.

“His face wasn’t exactly what I was thinking about at the time.”

“Oh, I’d love to know what you were thinking,” she says, lazily dragging the tip of her sword through the sand.

“Beat me and maybe I’ll show you instead,” he snickers, though Byleth knows he’ll show her regardless. “Enough talk. I want to make sure you haven’t gotten soft in my absence.”

She might have. Sparring with Seteth hadn’t been nearly as stimulating as any of her spars with Felix. He didn’t go easy on her because she was the leader of the Church, and if Byleth tried to linger outside of stabbing range for too long, he wouldn’t hesitate to drop a bolt of thunder on her. He wasn’t even afraid of catching her in a headlock or kicking sand in her face when she was down. Felix fought dirty, and she loved it.

In a fight with Felix, strength would be anyone’s disadvantage, including Byleth’s. On top of that, he was fast and agile. He struck hard and was hard to strike.

Beating Felix in a spar was a culmination of experience. Knowing his moves and knowing them well. He wasn’t patient, always the first to lunge and go on the offence. 

Which he does now, going right for mortal strike in a series of rapid swings and stabs, but Byleth meets him at each turn, deflecting blows that send tremors up the swords point of impact and reverberating through her arm. 

Byleth plays defense for now, waiting for an opening and a drop in his own defense. Her first goal would be to disarm him, rid him of his weapon and grant herself an advantage. It’s not long before she gets her chance, catching his sword with hers and forcing them to the side, kicking him square in the stomach. 

The impact knocks Felix onto his back, but he’d fallen with his sword still gripped tightly in his fist. Scrambling to his feet, Felix scowls at her, charging again and delivering a volley of strong blows. Byleth deftly deflects each one, but he’s pushed her back on her heels, and she’s quickly losing ground. 

She can barely get in a counterattack as he continues to advance. “Ready to yield?” He taunts when his sword glances past her torso. They’re both breathing heavily, Felix from his relentless offense, and Byleth from maintaining her defense. He’s gotten better somehow, and she wonders what it is he’s been eating up in Fraldarius.

Byleth barely twists out of the way, and almost doesn’t catch the upwards arc of his sword. They stay locked like this for a few seconds, muscles straining as they push against each other. There’s a sudden burst of energy, and Felix’s crest glows above them.

It grants him so much strength that the wooden blade of her sword snaps in half, and Byleth staggers backward in shock, her heel catching the hem of her dress and causing her to land right on her ass. 

Felix’s sword is beneath her chin in an instant, gently lifting it so she’s looking up at him. “Do you yield?”

“You broke my sword! That’s cheating!”

“So? If you were on the battlefield, would that stop your opponent from killing you?”

“We’re not on the battlefield!”

“Whatever. You lost, accept it.”

Byleth hates to admit it, but losing to Felix is losing, no matter how distasteful. “Fine,” she grumbles. “I hate you.”

“Love you too,” he calls over his shoulder, sauntering back to the weapons rack to put away his sword.

“Whatever,” she replies with a roll of her eyes, standing and dusting off her dress. “Do I still get my present?”

When Felix returns, he scoops it off the ground, tossing it at her. “Happy Cichol’s Day.”

Byleth tests the weight of the box. It’s light, obviously not a whetstone but not the right kind of light to be new tights (two things he knows she always needs). “If this is a naked portrait of you, I’m burning it.”

A lie. She would put it in her journal and stare at it every night.

“Ha! Yeah right. Just shut up and open it,” he laughs, the sound making Byleth’s chest flutter. It’d been too long since she’d heard it.

“Did you wrap this?” She asks, tugging on the twine bow until it unravels.

“Yes.” Byleth looks up and raises a brow at him. “Does it matter?” He grumbles.

Byleth bites a lip to keep from laughing at how embarrassed he sounds. “No, I suppose not.” 

She looks back down at her gift, wholly curious as to what’s inside. Carefully peeling back Dedue’s work, she lifts the lid of the box and reaches inside.

“There’s nothing inside,” she frowns, well and truly confused when her hand finds nothing to grasp. “Did you get me a box for St. Cichol’s Day?” She questions, trying her best to not sound so shocked. Felix wasn’t known for being the best gift giver after all. On her first St. Cichol’s Day at the monastery, he’d given her a sachet of tea he’d found on the ground and proceeded to be the one to drink all of it.

“Sort of.”

Looking up from the empty bottom of the box, Felix isn’t standing in front of her anymore. He’s kneeling.

In one hand he holds a beautiful sheathed dagger, and in the other he holds a ring. 

Byleth’s breath seizes in her throat. If her heart beat, it would have stopped.

“Ashe told me I should get down on one knee like in his stupid books, but I feel dumb,” he mumbles, his cheeks already red. “He said the box would be a good distraction while I...thought about how to ask.”

“Ask me what, Felix?”

He glowers at her, but there’s no real annoyance or anger behind it. “Isn’t it obvious what I want to ask? Surely _you’ve_ read books too.”

“I want to hear you say it,” she teases. 

Shaking his head at her, he mutters something under his breath. “Fine, but listen carefully because I’m only going to say this once. I’m sick of not being with you. Without a worthy opponent like you at my side, not only will my sword grow dull...it’ll rust. So I had to think of a way you’d always be with me.”

She swears his legs shake as he rises, holding the ring out to her. “I want you to be my wife. Please say yes.” Felix never says please. “Let’s get married and stay together until we die. I love you.”

Maybe he wasn’t so bad at getting gifts after all.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” she shrugs, taking the ring. She pauses before slipping it onto her finger. “But only if I get to keep the really cool dagger too.”

“Obviously.”

“Then it’s settled,” she nods, sliding the emerald set ring onto the appropriate finger. It sits perfectly on her hand, as if it were made for her. 

Felix‘s hand is under her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his amber eyes that are full of concern. “Are you...crying?”

Up until that moment, she hadn’t even realized she was. “No,” she denies, swiping a tear off her cheek. “I just got some snow in my eye,” she laughs, but it’s cut off by a half-sob as he wraps her into a hug. “I love you,” she whispers into his sweater, breathing in the scent of pine trees and amber.

“Yeah, I know.”

**~ ~ ~**

Sylvain is in the middle of choking down whatever kind of cake Flayn made when Felix and the Professor decide to join them. She’s clinging to his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. Her right hand clutches the dagger that Felix had purchased, and Sylvain notices something catch the light on her left hand. Something that definitely wasn’t there when he’d seen her this morning. 

He sits up immediately, because _there was no freaking way he hadn’t picked up on this before._ “Holy shit— holy shit, Ingrid!”

“What?” The falcon knight sputters as he grips her arm. She follows where his finger points, her mouth dropping open. “Oh, sweet Seiros. Is that a ring? Did he—”

“Dimitri!” Sylvain interrupts, smacking the King on the back. “Our boy is getting hitched!”

And sure, Sylvain proceeds to tease the recently betrothed couple for the duration of the night, but hey, he only gets smacked once, and by Byleth. 

He can’t help it though, because who would have thought that Felix ‘love is weakness’ Fraldarius would beat them all to the altar?

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all have a wonderful and safe holiday! May the new year be better than this one and bring you peace and joy!


End file.
